Sunday, July 19, 2009

Nomine Drabbles

A/N: A drabble is basically a ficlet, exactly 100 words in length.
Warnings: Don't like, don't read. If you do read, know that reviews are like crack to writers.
Disclaimer: I own everything, well not everything in the free world, but I own these words like I own the Bruce Lee poster that's tacked on my wall.


An alias I find myself using more often than I care to remember, Linda does quite well in satisfying my innate need to be absurd. Linda makes the Marks, the Johns and the occasional Anne more bearable; their companies not needing to be more than what I am prepared to accept. There is a certain kindness to Linda that my Mel is incapable of displaying—more forgiving and more tolerant of the illogic of being human than I can ever be. For the useful, useless and everything in between, Linda serves my purposes to degrees that I’m afraid to admit.


Born of tiredness and irreverence, Melody usually makes an appearance in customer service forms, usually of the food establishment variety. The name goes well with the phony address and number I have invented just for these delicious moments. Pizza Hut—or is it just The Hut now?—has the unfortunate honor of being the repeated victim of Melody’s readiness to lie. Ditto for Starbucks and Seattle’s Best. It is this acceptance of my dishonesty that allows her to exist as a favored appellation. Melody, while inviting ridicule for its disconnect to Melissa ergo Mel, will always be useful to myself.


More a stage name than a pseudonym, Sammi performs for the deviant audience. Created to exemplify Descartes’ Error, I use her when the actress in me needs to be let out. Although Sammi is familiar with the concept of shame, she is hopelessly inept at employing restraint. And while I appreciate her popularity among freaks and geeks (I have weirdness down to a science, after all), it is rare that Sammi successfully breaks out of the imaginary world I have consigned her to. When she crosses over to my reality, however, I have no vivid recollection of these alcohol-inspired escapes.


Stuck with this name for 27 years, I have no particular fondness for Melissa. Melissa is reserved for people who don’t know me well enough. People who, in my opinion, have a greater chance of violating my personal space because they fail to acknowledge Mel as my sobriquet of choice. Melissa serves no other purpose than to be attractive on personal documents: birth certificate, passport, résumé and the like. Melissa’s official uses, though appreciated will never explain why it’s a stranger to my Mel and stranger still to my friends.

A rose by any other name…

I’ m no rose.


“Mel, is it?” he stops me before I can grab myself a plate.

“Who’s asking?” I barely hide my irritation as I allow people to take over my place at the buffet line.

He grins. Not a good sign for me. “Three years ago, your name was Sammi.”

Warning bells drown the sounds of my growling stomach. “Sammi’s my sister. Is there anything else?” I level him with my patented stare.

He’s surprised, but he recovers quickly. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” He hesitates before asking, “Mel, is that short for Melissa?”

“No, Melody,” I say before leaving him.

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